


Fido

by MissNaya



Category: DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Come Inflation, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Other, Oviposition, Tentacle Sex, Wet & Messy, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Black Mask invites Jason to feed his exotic pet. Unfortunately, Jason doesn't think to ask what it eats until it's too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> another fic inspired by asks I got on [tumblr!](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) everyone needs some good old-fashioned tentacle porn every now and again. (the oviposition will come in the next chapter, so if that's not your jam, feel free to read this as a standalone.)
> 
> this isn't really a [Blurryverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/718284) fic, but you can definitely read it that way if you'd like. otherwise, just assume Rebirth, where Jason is trying to play the good heir to Black Mask.

“Roman, what the hell is that?”

Jason stares through the glass down into a room with a built-in pond. Writhing under the water's surface is something large and tentacled, but it has too many limbs for it to be a normal octopus. He can't seem to locate a hub for them, either; it's just a sleek black tangle, with no noticeable beginning or end.

“It's an exotic species recovered from the site of a crash-landed alien ship,” Roman tells him, standing next to him with his hands in his pockets. “One of a kind. I'm proud to say my men got to it before the Justice League could.”

“Great,” Jason says, and makes a mental note to report that later. “And you expect me to feed this thing because why?”

“I thought you'd be interested,” Roman says with a shrug of his shoulders. “As my apprentice, you should have access to the things I don't let anyone else see. Or is an alien lifeform too commonplace for kids these days? I know you grew up with that Kryptonian on the news all the time...”

Jason watches a tentacle on the water's edge curl in on itself, smooth and slimy-looking, before it sinks back under the surface. “It's no Superman, that's for sure.”

“Well.” Roman claps his hands together fondly. “I'm glad there's still some wonder left to be had. Come, let's go in.”

“Wait, in? Like, in there with it?” Jason raises a brow, but Roman pays him no mind, snaking an arm around his shoulders to steer him toward a nearby staircase. “Isn't that, I dunno, dangerous?”

“Not at all,” Roman says. “You'll find that it's very affectionate.”

Jason still isn't sure, but in seconds they're standing in front of the entrance to the room. Roman enters a combination onto a number pad, and after a series of clicks and whirring noises, the heavy steel door creaks open.

The creature's enclosure isn't that big, and it's sparsely-decorated. The tiled floors slope inward toward the pond, which takes up the far half of the room. The ceiling rises fairly high above them, and the windows they'd been looking through line the top half of the left wall. He wanders a few steps inside to get a better look at the place, searching for a feeding tube or buckets of meat or _something,_ but the smooth white room is pretty much empty.

“What did you say this thing ate...?” he asks, feeling the creep of something not quite right up his spine.

Roman says “You'll find out soon enough,” pushes him forward, and slams the door shut.

Jason curses loudly and tries to spin around, but the action only serves to throw him off-balance. He slips on the slick tiles and falls on his ass, and the slant of the room sends him sliding a few inches toward the water. Instinctively, he reaches for his gun, only to realize he'd been rushed down here so quickly that he'd left it sitting on the dresser by his bed.

“Roman!” he calls, unsure if anyone can even hear him through the enclosure's walls. He staggers to his feet, seat of his pants dripping wet. “Roman, this isn't funny, you total ass!”

No response. He curses again and turns to head toward the door, but before he can lift his foot, he feels something wrap around his ankle.

Shit.

When he looks down, he's unsurprised to find one of those tentacles on him. At this range, he can see it doesn't have suckers like normal sea creatures do; rather, it's smooth and jet black, and seems to pulsate slightly, as if some sort of liquid is being pushed and pulled through the length of it.

“Hey, buddy...” he says. “Nice to meet you, too. Not exactly how we do handshakes on my planet, but good try. If you don't mind, I'm just gonna...”

He tries to pull his foot away, but the tentacle only tightens its grip when he does. Even worse, two more shoot out of the water, one wrapping around his other leg, the second one encircling his upper arm. They vary in thickness by a bit, but each one is about as big around as his forearm, and they're strong, to boot.

“Fuck, shit— _Roman!_ ” Gritting his teeth, Jason tries not to do anything else to set the beast off. Visions of being dragged underwater and fed into a circular mouth full of pointy teeth dance in his head. “That's enough, Roman, come on! Call it off before I cut these fucking things in half. You know I will!”

“I know you _would,_ ” comes a crackling voice, through speakers Jason hadn't noticed before. “If you could. Unfortunately, even if you had your knives with you, they wouldn't do you much good. My pet is very... durable. Trust me on that.”

Jason inwardly curses at himself and at Roman, eyes rapt on the edge of the water as a few more tentacles slither out. “If I die in here, I'm haunting the shit out of you. Just so we're clear.”

“Always so dramatic,” Roman chides. “It won't kill you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Can we stop with the cryptic bullshit?” Jason asks. “Like, just for one fucking day, can you act normal?”

He hears Roman chuckle, and even though Jason's pissed, the sound still washes over him like silk. “Sorry, but I want to watch you figure things out on your own. You're a bright boy, Red. I'm sure you can puzzle it out.”

“Is it gonna eat my clothes?” Jason asks, as one tentacle wiggles its way under his padding and starts to creep up his pants leg. “Because one, gross. And two, I'll steal yours if I have to.”

“Close,” Roman says.

“Close? What does that mean?” Jason cranes his neck, looking up at the windows, but from this angle, the glare from the harsh overhead lighting obscures Roman from view. “Roman? What does that _mean?_ You jackass, you better not leave—!”

His protests are cut off when the tentacle finds its way under his boxer shorts, and it's so cold and slick that he can't hold back a yelp. He reaches down to try and yank it away somehow, but he can't get a grip through his pants, and his struggles only make the tentacles that have made their way around his arms tighten up. More and more encircle him every second. He tries to stomp on one, but that only makes it shoot out quick as a striking snake and wrap around his knee, so swift and precise that it's as if it can't feel pain at all. Then it yanks so hard Jason's knees buckle, and he cries out as he falls backward.

He never makes it to the floor. There are enough tentacles on him now that they can hold him in the air, and in fact, once he's off his feet, they lift him higher and pull him even closer to the water. The ones on his upper body squirm underneath his jacket, his shirt, and the one in his pants curls up around the base of his cock.

The noise he makes in response isn't totally dignified, he'll admit that.

“ _Whoa,_ no, seriously, what the fuck?” He tugs against his bonds as more tentacles reach up to wrap around him, the ones under his clothes starting to tear the fabric at the seams. “Roman! You gotta learn to teach your pets boundar _ies— HO_ ly shit!”

The tentacle reaches the tip of his cock, and that's definitely not water keeping it wet. The substance, whatever it is, is cool and almost sticky, like lubricant, and it leaves him tingling in its wake. Face flushed bright red, Jason realizes that it won't be long at all before this thing gets him hard.

“No, okay, too weird,” he says, doubling up his efforts to try and yank the tentacles out of his shirt. He kicks and arches, but they hold firm. “Too weird, _Roman—_ Nope, we've gone past 'not funny' all the way to 'actually criminal,' you better get your _ass_ down here...!”

“Criminal?” comes Roman's voice over the speakers again, calm as ever. “Why, I'm just feeding my pet. What's criminal about that?”

“Y-you're gonna have to— reGISter your pet as a sex offender, yyyouuuu...!” It's hard to talk with so many tentacles writhing all over him and covering him with that substance, hard to even think straight when another one nudges between his legs and presses lightly against his hole. “What the— Jesus fuck, Roman— What the fuck does it eat?”

“It's astounding, really,” Roman says, and Jason would roll his eyes at that tone if they weren't wide as dinner plates, trained on the mess of limbs tearing his clothes open. “The creature seems to respond exclusively to fluids excreted from the human body — sexual ones, particularly.”

“Ohhh, no,” Jason says. “No, no, no _way_ are you saying what the fuck I think you're saying.”

“Just try to relax, why don't you?” Roman says. “I hear it's very enjoyable to be the center of so much attention.”

“No, uh-uh, this is not how I'm gonna spend my fucking Saturday afternoon, douchebag, no god damn _way—!_ ”

Then a tentacle presses in past his lips, thicker than the rest, and he can't protest any more.

Jason tries to bite down, but the thing's skin is made up of some sort of rubbery texture that he can't penetrate. It pushes past his tongue, down his throat, and he thinks he's going to gag, but for some reason, he doesn't. Then he feels it pulsate, and thick liquid spews out of the tip. In his position, Jason can do nothing but drink it down, even though he's about a hundred and ten percent sure that's a bad idea.

And then, like a silk blanket being draped over his face, everything goes... soft. The edges of his vision tinge pink-purple, and he heats up from the inside out. It's like the sensation from the tentacles' excretion has been magnified a hundred times over, and that tingling evolves into a thrumming in his body, over his cock, in the deepest parts of him.

Vaguely, he thinks, _I cannot believe this is happening._

Then he doesn't think much at all.

By now, his clothes are mostly gone, save for his gloves and his boots. He doesn't remember why he was angry about losing them before; without them in the way, all the tentacles have easy access to his body, and every slide of them across his skin lights up his senses with a burning pleasure he's never experienced before. They slide over his arms and legs, his chest, his stomach, even his face, where he's flushed and sweating.

The one on his cock writhes around, and his tip is encased in some sort of warm, soft heat. When he looks down, he sees the end of the tentacle has engulfed his cockhead, and he can feel it sucking, trying to drink down every drop of precum. Another one wraps around his balls, massaging them, wrapping him up so completely that he never, ever wants them to let him go.

There are two by his ass, poking and prodding at his hole with leaking tips. The first one that enters is thin, barely bigger around than his pinky finger, and it fills him up with that same goo that got pumped down his throat. It coats him in a thick layer, and he suddenly feels too empty, prostate assaulted with a tingling heat, but not much else. He realizes he's spreading his legs even without the help of the tentacles, wide and exposed in midair.

Then a thicker one enters him, and he moans around the one in his mouth, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

God, it's so, so _good,_ somehow firm and soft all at the same time, like the tentacle is melding to every little curve and wrinkle inside his body. He doesn't feel even the barest speck of pain, completely overtaken by pleasure. As soon as the thing starts to thrust in and out, Jason's legs start shaking, and his cock twitches under the assault of the tentacles. More slide over his cheeks, almost tender, and drink up the tears that leak from his eyes.

There's no part of him that isn't covered in either tentacles or their excretions, translucent and as pink-purple as his vision. It's in his hair, filling his boots, soaking his gloves, and the tentacles leak out more and more every second. He's so overtaken with pleasure that he can barely even muster up the strength to moan, too focused on allowing himself to be used than on anything else.

The tentacles start to work even harder, rhythmically rocking him back and forth with synchronized movements. He can feel the ones in his throat and in his ass fill him up with more liquid, and he feels bloated almost to the point of bursting. But, for reasons entirely outside of his grasp, he finds that he _wants_ to be full. There's nothing he desires more than to be stretched to capacity, to let this thing use him for whatever it needs. He wants, on a deep, primal level, to make the creature happy.

His orgasm doesn't hit him as one big climax like it does normally. Instead, it's drawn out of him over the course of minutes, or maybe hours, just a steady thrum of deep, full-body pulsations that leave his muscles weak. The tentacle on his cock drinks down every bit of his cum until, at long last, Jason has nothing left to give it. For the first time in what feels like ages, he feels a pain in his sac as it pulses in vain, nothing left inside to give the creature.

When that happens, he's lowered down to the ground, and slowly, the tentacles start to pull away. One by one, they untangle themselves from him and sink back down into the depths of the pond, until all that's left on the surface is Jason, gasping for air in a puddle of rosy sludge.

His eyelids feel heavy, and he couldn't move right now if he tried. The last thing he hears before he drifts off is that voice in the speaker telling him, “You did wonderful, Jason.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> egg time
> 
> I've got no excuses for this

When he wakes up, Jason is clean, wrapped in a silk robe and curled up in the center of a large bed. He's taken aback by how _comfortable_ he feels, and remembers Thanksgiving dinners at Wayne Manor, lying warm and happy with an over-full stomach.

Speaking of full... As soon as Jason rolls over, he remembers abruptly what happened to him before he passed out, in no small part because of how his stomach bulges out like there's still something inside him. The tentacles are nowhere to be seen, but he feels a telltale stickiness between his thighs. He sits up with some difficulty and looks down at himself: at the roundness of his stomach, bulging low, more like a pregnant woman's midsection than that of a person who's eaten too much. At the lavender liquid seeping out of him, staining his robe and his legs.

He mutters an, “Oh, what the _fuck,_ ” and right after, the door swings open.

“Ah, Jason!” It's Roman, standing there in his crisp suit and leather mask, as chipper as ever. “You're up. Good. I was beginning to think you'd sleep the whole day away.”

Jason opens his mouth, thinks of about three dozen different things to call Roman that all fall under the header of “not very nice,” and closes it again. After taking a second to compose himself, he asks, “How long have I been out?”

“About ten hours,” Roman says. “Not too much of a deviation from the standard timeframe.”

“Timeframe...? Okay.” Jason folds his hands together and sucks in a breath. “Remember that thing I said about being cryptic, right before you left me to get _fucked by a fucking tentacle alien?_ That still applies now.”

“It's not my intention to startle you by giving you too much information all at once,” Roman says, crossing the distance between the two of them. “That could spell disaster for the poor things.”

Jason's death stare implores Roman to spell out what he means. Roman sighs, sits down on the edge of the bed, and loops an arm around Jason's shoulders. When he attempts to pull away, he's tugged close to his boss's side.

“You see, I may have omitted a few details about the feeding process,” Roman says. Before Jason can fire back with something sarcastic, he continues, “There's a reason my little pet needs to take nutrients from the people it feeds off of. The mating process can be very draining for both participants.”

Jason feels his head swim and his stomach lurch. He puts a hand on his bulging abdomen, staring down at it with wide eyes.

“Roman,” he says. “Tell me you're pulling my leg. Tell me you're joking _right fucking now,_ or I swear to _God—_ ”

“Shh, it's alright,” Roman coos, holding Jason close and rubbing at his stomach with his free hand. “It's a fairly straightforward process. You'll be done before the day's out.”

“Oh my god, I am _not_ pregnant with an alien baby!” Jason exclaims. He shoves Roman's hands off of him, gripping his stomach, trying to puzzle out how the hell this is even physically possible. “I'm just not! Fuck off! I didn't sign up for this, you gigantic fucking douche canoe, holy _shit._ ”

Roman sighs and clicks his tongue, like _Jason's_ the unreasonable one. “Oh, don't be ridiculous. _Pregnant_ isn't the right word at all.”

Somehow, that doesn't calm Jason down any.

“Then what fucking is?!”

“You're going to lay some eggs,” Roman says. “Simple as that.”

“I... Ohhh.” Jason falls back against the massive pile of pillows at the head of the bed, hands still on his stomach. “Okay. This is too much for me. I'm officially checking out.”

“Jason.”

“Not happening. This isn't happening, right?”

“Jason.”

“People don't just lay eggs for tentacle monsters. I guess people don't just come back from the dead, either, but—”

“ _Jason,_ ” Roman says, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. “It's alright. I'm here to help you through it.”

“What, are you the father? Fuck off!” Jason says, smacking his hand away. He crosses his arms over his chest and pouts when Roman puts it right back. “Now I know why pregnant women are always screaming at their husbands in the hospital. Shit.”

“I _told you,_ this is nothing like a pregnancy.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

Another sigh. “You'll understand when they're ready to come out. Everyone who's ever done it before has expressed utmost satisfaction with the experience. Why, I have a few breeders that were just devastated when they heard their services wouldn't be required this month.”

“You have breeders,” Jason deadpans. “Of course you have breeders. Why wouldn't you have breeders? Freak.”

“I'll chalk that up to the stress of your situation,” Roman says, measured voice only slightly hiding his offense. “Now, try not to fret so much. You'll want to be in a calm mindset when it's time.”

Roman gets up and starts toward the door, which sets Jason's heart racing a mile a minute. He realizes that he doesn't want to be alone like this, not for a minute, but like hell he'd admit that.

To cover up for his growing feelings of unrest, he calls at Roman's back, “I'm calm! Calm as I've ever been! I'm so fucking calm, you have no _goddamned idea!_ ”

And then he's alone.

* * *

 

Turns out, Roman had only left to get him something to drink. Jason refused to thank him, and instead turned all his attention to greedily sucking it down.

The phrase “be careful what you wish for” stuck out in Jason's mind, because for the next few hours, Roman rarely left his side. It really did start to feel like a father-mother situation after a while, which caused Jason no shortage of grief. He felt sick to his stomach, watching Roman straighten up the room and cover him with towels and blankets. It was almost _doting,_ which didn't suit him at all.

Jason had been content to sit there and brainstorm ways to get those things out of himself for the most part. That all changes when he feels something _shift_ inside him.

“Oh, no,” he says, sitting up and laying a hand on his stomach. “No you don't. Uh-uh, _no—_ ”

Roman's at his side immediately. “Starting to feel it?”

“You're gonna feel my fucking fist in your face in a minute— _No,_ ” he chides, when he feels the thing move again. It's big, that's for sure. “Oh, fuck. Roman—!”

“I'm here,” Roman says, crawling into bed with him. He'd changed into informal wear a while ago, some beat-up slacks and a black button-down that smelled faintly of old blood. He makes his way behind Jason and pulls his back against his chest, bare hands ducking under Jason's robe to rub at his stomach. “Here we go, my boy. Take deep breaths for me.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Jason spits, but when he feels the thing shift downward, his expression softens. “ _Ohh._ ”

A feeling starts to blossom in his gut, not unlike the effect of the sludge he'd been fed hours ago. It softens his nerves and lights up his senses, and he feels his hostility start to drain out of him. This entire time, something had been stopping him from trying to just carve the eggs out of himself, and that instinct magnifies tenfold now, until he finds himself wondering if the bed is soft and warm enough for them. A second later, he realizes what's happening, but he can't shake off the hormonal protectiveness no matter how hard he tries.

And Roman, Roman is so caring, too, Jason almost thinks he's being mocked. He unties the robe and spreads it open, then runs warm hands down his thighs to encourage his legs apart. Jason leans back against him, gripping Roman's knees on either side of his body, and starts to breathe slower without realizing it.

“ _There_ we go,” Roman says, soft and supportive in his ear. “Let it happen. Just like that.”

The thing — the _egg_ — moves downward some more, and all the others above it shift, as well. Jason watches it happen, watches the way his skin stretches and his muscles contract. He's never seen anything more bizarre in his life, and he'd cry if it didn't feel so inexplicably _good._

The further down the egg moves, the harder Jason gets. This isn't something he's into, not something he'd ever have even considered before, but whatever's left of the alien slime inside him makes him melt with every shift. He feels more of it leak out of his hole, pooling underneath him, and Roman reaches down to rub little circles into the sensitive skin there.

“How does it feel?” he practically whispers into Jason's ear.

“O-oh... my god,” Jason gapes. “It's so big, it's— I-I can't do it, Roman, it's never gonna come _out—_ ”

Roman shushes him, nuzzling the side of his face. “I'm here. I'll help you.”

Jason mutters “No, no,” like a chorus, but Roman pays him no mind. His other hand slides down to join the first, and two fingers from either hand begin to press inside of him. Jason's mouth falls open, head tilted back against Roman's shoulder, and they go in deeper, deeper, until Roman's practically stretching him open.

“It's so, it's so,” Jason gasps, sweat rolling down his temples, and Roman just sighs and tells him, “I know.”

They sit like that for too long, Jason whimpering, Roman cooing at him. The egg makes its way downward agonizingly slow, until eventually it's low enough that Roman must be able to feel it against the tips of his fingers. Jason feels stretched past capacity, wondering how solid the thing is that it can push against his inner walls like that. His prostate takes the brunt of it, and he can feel too much precum drip out of the tip of his dick.

His contractions — that's what they are, right, this pulsing, twitching way his muscles move? — are so fast, he almost feels like he's fucking himself with the egg. It's so unspeakably wrong, so alien, that Jason can hardly stand it, and he becomes aware that he's gasping and whimpering with abandon. He can feel the eggs so deep inside him, all on a course to come out, and thinks that there's no way he can possibly do this.

Roman mutters, “There, there, so close, my boy” into his neck, and Jason blinks down, eyes blurry with tears, to see the tapered end of an ash-gray egg poking out of himself. He screws his eyes shut and _whines,_ bearing down in an attempt to shove the whole thing out at once. It doesn't work, and when a good quarter of the egg retreats back up inside himself, he breaks.

“I ca-a-an't, I can't, it's too much,” he sobs, reaching down to slide his fingers over the slippery outside of the egg. “Get it _out,_ I'm so, I, ah— _Nnngh...!_ ”

Another wave of contractions hit him particularly hard, and stars erupt behind his eyes. He's leaking again, too much to be just precum this time, and feels that full-body wave of constant, orgasmic pleasure he felt back with the monster. This time, the egg slides all the way out, nestled atop a towel underneath him.

“You did it, Jason,” Roman says against his neck. “I'm so proud of you. Keep going. Breathe.”

Jason can barely concentrate on the words. His head lulls from one side to the other, tears and drool and sweat coating his face. He feels relief for only a brief few seconds before the next egg in line presses down inside him, and he makes sounds like half-formed words.

Everything after the first one is a blur. He doesn't object much after that, more because he can't figure out how to speak than anything. Roman, to his credit, is unwavering, holding him spread open to make the passage of the eggs that much smoother.

In a word, it's euphoria. The more Jason's higher brain functions shut down, the more he starts to enjoy the experience, putting aside his notions of humanity and decency to focus on sensation. The eggs inside him fill him and massage him better than any sex toy he could dream of, and every one that passes through him sends another burst of stars into his line of vision.

He doesn't count them. He doesn't think he knows how to count. He doesn't think he knows how to move, save for the minute shuffling he does whenever the space between his legs gets too crowded. He almost thinks something like _is this what it's like to be an animal,_ but that requires more self-awareness than he can muster.

It must be hours before he's down to the last egg. It's almost devastating, being so empty again. He doesn't know when Roman stopped stretching him open, but by now, he can push the last one out without much resistance, while Roman rubs sticky little circles into his thighs. Roman's been whispering to him for god knows how long, but Jason can't ever pick out anything but his own name.

When he's finally done, lying boneless in Roman's arms, he feels himself get moved, hears the door open. He almost finds it in him to jump when masked men come in to move his eggs into some weird-looking basket, but Roman just presses him down into the mattress with the barest bit of his strength and lies on top of him.

He lets Roman fuck him, if only because it fills up that deep, aching emptiness inside himself that he'd do anything to get rid of.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's never written oviposition befooooore? hopefully that wasn't too terrible, thanks for sticking with me on this Sin Journey!


End file.
